


The Wraith

by Acid_Rabbit



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Contemperary, F/M, M/M, ghost story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acid_Rabbit/pseuds/Acid_Rabbit
Summary: If that blasted ghost wanted to haunt the living, then who the hell was Gaius to stand in his way?





	1. Salieri and the Swedes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Spooktober my lovies!  
Will be posting this in parts and finishing it out by the end of October.  
Disclaimer: BBC Merlin and its characters are not mine and no money was made from this. Thanks for letting me play in the sandbox.

The Wraith  
By Acid_Rabbit

Chapter One

Salieri and the Swedes

* * *

  
The screaming began just as he had closed his eyes in utter contentment as the notes of Salieri's Emperor's Mass in D-Major, strove higher and higher about him, the notes thrilling and dancing and cascading over him in a gentle rush. Gaius' hand jerked, his perfectly steeped jasmine tea sloshing down his full chin and dribbling over his best argyle jumper.  
  
“Confound it all!” he held the teacup aloft, his other hand swiping with clumsy frustration at the liquid. The screams were coming closer, two distinct hysterical shrieks, urging each other to higher fervor with each inhale.  
  
Gaius set the cup down, remembering at the last moment that is was fragile and so curbed his initial inclination to slam it against the black marble top of the antique stand. He exhaled from the tips of his toes and slumped back in his wingback chair, staring at the ceiling. He knew it. He knew the peace the castle had enjoyed for the last six days was on borrowed time. The hollering was approaching the solar now. He levered himself up from the chair, stalking to the heavy oak door, and threw it open just in time to see the two nice young Swedish ladies streak past, pulling each other along, by arms and hair, skidding around the corner, and racing down the steps. Brilliant. If they fell it would mean a law suit for certain.  
  
“Ladies! Please, come back! You haven't seen the garderobe yet!” George, their most dedicated and subsequently, only tour guide, came skidding down the hallway after them. He paused on seeing Gaius, acknowledged him with a nervous nod, shrugged, and took off after what was certainly not going to be repeat customers.  
And he knew exactly who to blame for that.  
“ARTHUR!”  
  
A familiar and oft-times irritating tingle clutched the back of his neck, indicating the arrival of said irritant. Gaius turned to see the figure sprawled in his vacated chair, eyebrows raised in innocent expectation, hands folded loosely over his ever-present red tunic.  
  
“You bellowed for me, m’lord?”  
  
The corners of Gaius’ lips were heavy with disapproval.  
  
“You agreed this would stop.”  
  
Arthur tilted his head, his mouth slashed in a bored line, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “And what, pray tell, would “this” be?”  
That arrogant ruffian, if Gaius could physically put his fist through that smug face, he would have done it a hundred times by now. As it was, all he could do was gather his fury and spew it all over the damnable spirit.  
“You know damn well what I mean. You and your, your hooligans!”  
  
Arthur’s eyes widened, “My…hooligans. Goodness Gaius, such language.”  
  
“Make fun all you like. But we had a bargain. You and your men would stop scaring away all our paying guests and I would keep the east wing closed for you. You agreed, Arthur.” he stabbed his finger in the spirit’s general direction. He could just make out George’s frantic voice in the courtyard beyond the second floor window, offering the women vouchers for free coasters and nail files if they’d remember to leave a favorable review. Slamming car doors and something that he didn’t want to translate into English was the ladies’ answer.  
  
Arthur rose from the chair, his booted feet silent as he walked with caution towards him, hands held open and placating before himself. Oh he knew this routine. Lull him into a false sense of security and then disappear before Gaius understood that he had once again been made a fool. Not today. Not again, damnit.  
  
“Arthur-”  
  
“My dear Gaius-”  
  
“Don’t you dear Gaius me you-”  
  
“Now, now. You’re being rash. We did have an agreement. Quite a fair one, actually. I can assure you, we have kept to it.” Arthur’s deep blue gaze never wavered and Gaius felt the tightness in his shoulders give a bit. He did look rather earnest. “If someone has been making trouble for your guests, then I would say this. My men and I are not the only spirits here.”  
  
“I know that.” Gaius snapped, doubt warring with surety. Arthur tilted his head again and stopped, his fingers latching onto his belt. Gaius's neck was hot, the same way he'd felt as a lad. The time he'd been gently lectured by the headmaster for telling tales about the monk who kept him up singing bawdy songs at night. It didn't matter that it was true, that no one else could see or hear the cheerful ghost. But it made him doubt all the same. Arthur had that same infuriating, careful tone.  
  
“Then could it not have been one of them? Surely, you didn’t actually see one of mine cause this offense?”  
  
“Well,” he inhaled, a prick of shame crawling up his spine. It was true, Cavalon had many, many specters. Some quiet, some not even aware of themselves or anything around them. Then there were spirits like Arthur and his merry band of mischief makers. Always up to something, from the time Gaius was small, and far back into his grandfather’s time, if the stories were to be believed. Which he did. His grandfather could see the spirits, and Gaius could as well. It was a shared experience that had bonded them against the world and their many mocking relatives. He regarded Arthur’s open expression, the way his dirty blonde hair shone almost golden in the sinking light of the tall window, giving him an earnest, boyish look.  
  
So yes, there were other spirits who certainly weren’t happy with breathing bodies traipsing about their abode. Though Arthur’s brood had been the most vocal, they certainly weren’t alone here. And he had agreed. That meant something. Usually. Gaius blew out a breath, his lips twisting in defeat.  
  
“I suppose you’re right.”  
  
Arthur clapped his hands together, though no noise issued forth, “Splendid!” he grinned, coming forward to grasp Gaius by the shoulder. He felt the hand, no heat, just a mild pressure. The first time he'd felt that had been when he was four, sobbing his little heart out in the garden, holding the lifeless body of his toad that the kitchen cat had killed. Arthur had knelt before him and placed his arms around him. He hadn't known they could do that. Even now, he didn't take the comfort for granted. It took concentration. More so for Arthur and his lot than some of the others. But then, they were rarely trying to push someone down the stairs in a tantrum. Strong emotion allowed for the breaking of the barrier between Spirit and the physical world. So when comfort was given, it was not to be taken lightly or without appreciation. Sometimes it was simply age that helped. Though Arthur nor his men could give him a date for their demise, they had memories of centuries gone by. Was it any wonder they were always up to some trouble or another?  
But no. Not this time. Arthur was right. There were plenty of others who were more than capable of-  
  
A moan carried down the hall to them, floating along on dust motes. Gaius frowned, his attention drawn to the open doorway. That moan...  
  
“Um, as I was saying,” Arthur's hand gave a tug to his shoulder, though it was weak at best. “let’s just close this door and get you back to your relaxing evening. I’ll just turn your music up and-”  
  
Gaius flung his hand up, shrugging off the hold, his index finger jammed under the ghost’s nose. Arthur’s eyes crossed. Gaius stepped closer to the door, head tilted to catch any sound. Arthur dodged in front of him, his lips spread too wide over crooked teeth.  
  
“As I was saying, Gaius, it couldn’t have been my lot, now if you’ll excuse me-”  
  
“Don’t you dare move a muscle.”  
  
“Well, technically…”  
  
Gaius turned sharply, his bushy eyebrow raised. Arthur may be of the dead, but Gaius knew he was far more frightening.  
  
A deep groan began to swell through the stones of the hallway, vibrating closer and closer. The sound of something being drug over stone slid under the current of sound.  
  
He knew that particular groan. Gaius drew himself up and stepped into the threshold.  
  
Black and grey smoky tendrils snaked and wisped into view. Out of that terrible mist, the groaning fell heavy and devastating. A dark figure moved within. The smoke fell away, revealing a man in a bloody and torn grey tunic, dark leather vest, and brown breeches, his face blotched grey and purple. His lank brown hair, was matted with blood that pulsed sluggishly from the gore of the wound at his temple. In his left hand, he clutched the haft of a halberd, a long spear with an axe shaped blade attached to the side of the spear head. A blade that was currently embedded in the chest of the man that he was dragging along the hall. The victim was dark of skin, his eyes wide and milky white, mouth hanging, gaping open. The body jostled and swayed with each dragging step of the upright man. But most horrifying sight of all was the moaning man’s midsection where his guts were spilling out, swinging with obscene abandon with each step.  
  
Gauis sucked in the sides of his cheeks. He damn well knew it. Bugger all. He drew in a deep breath. And another. With deliberate and controlled movements, Gaius turned and glared daggers at the blonde man.  
  
Arthur’s head was bowed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut, “God’s teeth, Gwaine.” he muttered.

“Indeed.”

Arthur had the grace to look up and hold his hands out in a helpless gesture.  
The day he believed Arthur helpless was the day he did a backflip on Britain's Got Talent.

Gaius continued to glare until Arthur folded his arms over his chest, looked away, and began to shift his feet like a recalcitrant schoolboy. The moaning was drowning out the evening songbirds now and set a grinding of his molars.

“Gwaine!” the specter jumped, the halberd jerking his 'victim' up and thumping his head about the floor, to which the murdered man let out a curse and flicked the back of Gwaine's leg.

The moaning spirit, Gwaine, turned towards Gaius, ignoring his companion and smiled cheerily.  
“Oh, hullo there Boots! Princess, fine day innit?”

“It was.” Gaius bit out. Dear God, he was surrounded by children. He speared the man on the floor with an angry scowl, “Elyan. Really. This old trick?”

The white swirled and bled from Elyan's eyes, returning them to their honeyed brown. “Sorry Gaius, but um, it really isn't what you think.” he waved his hand over the metal protruding from his chest.  
“Truly. Of course not. It never is, is it?”

Elyan's chin tried to become one with his shoulders. Gaius turned his accusing gaze to Gwaine, “I would ask you what the hell you were thinking but it's obvious you don't have a brain to think with,”

“Oi-”

“And you-” he spun back around, pushing his bulk into Arthur's space, forcing the other man to take several steps back lest he go through Gaius, literally. Arthur had once explained the sensation as undignified, utterly uncomfortable, and to be avoided at all costs. Smug satisfaction leapt in Gaius' chest at the chagrined expression on Arthur's face. The warrior hated to give ground. Well too bad. That's all Gaius ever seemed to do these days. “Of everyone here, I thought you were the one I could count on. You gave me your word, Arthur.” that was hitting the mark. Arthur's eyes narrowed, his cheeks sucked in. Arthur could withstand many storms, but a sting to his honor was not one of them.  
Arthur's expression darkened, his spine stiffened. The lights in the room flickered. Gauis' heart fluttered in its first stirrings of apprehension.

“My word, yes.” The specter stepped closer and Gauis forced himself to hold his ground, his own spine straightening in response. As a young man, such actions would be called posturing and more hollow than anything. He didn't believe for a second Arthur had ever postured without intent to follow through. “Yes, Gauis, I gave you my word. As I gave it to your grandfather, and his father, and countless generations before you. It is not me or mine that have repeatedly broken it.”

A treacherous heat climbed up Gauis' neck and embraced his jowls. Venom curled in his gut and shame pulled him into the pit it had opened. And yet, hadn't he answered for the betrayal of his ancestors enough? Hadn't he played penance enough for his own actions?

“I'm done, Arthur. I mean it. I've done what I can. I've kept you and your lot as happy and at peace as possible. And yes, at one time, I deserved your ire. But I can't afford your anger. Not anymore. Do you have any idea how close we are to losing Cavalon? Do you?”

Arthur flung out his arms, his face twisted in disgust and annoyance. “We're always on the verge of losing the castle! What about the fortunes we've found for you? Where is the money from that? How hard is it to keep a few rooms livable?”

“How- how hard? You bloody well know how hard it is. As for the relics you've brought, yes they've kept the lights on, but they don't pay the taxes indefinitely. Or the heat. Or the electric. Or the staff. Or the groundskeeper.”

“That's your problem, not mine.”

Gauis' world narrowed and ballooned, his thoughts scattered like burnt newspaper, little embers flitting about his brain. Was Arthur truly so obtuse? Could he not see?

“Arthur,” Gauis rasped, “Arthur we are weeks, weeks, from losing the utilities. The staff. We've already lost half our revenue when the village was abandoned. I won't have the money to keep the foundation from crumbling. Maybe you can't see how badly the castle needs repair, but I can. If I can't keep us afloat, then I'll have no choice but to turn it over to the National Trust.”

“It won't come to that.” Arthur muttered. But he was looking away, his hand on the back of his neck.

“Yes, it will. You can't keep scaring off the only paying guests we have.”

“And I won't have half naked women and ridiculous men gallivanting around my citadel without leave to do so.” he snapped.

“Well that's exactly what you'll have if the National Trust takes over. They'll bring in the tourists by the droves. They'll turn the lists into a gift shop!” To which Arthur looked appropriately horrified.

Encouraged, Gauis struck harder, “or worse yet, what better venue for weddings than a castle?”

“They wouldn't dare.” Arthur breathed.

“They would and they have. The people I bring in are the price for Cavalon to remain private. It's time you grew up and moved into the twenty first century.”

Arthur's brow pinched and his lips thinned, “Grow up?” Gauis' knew by the venom in Arthur's voice that he'd misstepped, badly. “Grow up!” Arthur spat, “We are trapped here, Gauis. We would love to do nothing more than to, “grow up” and move on. To have lives not tied to the stone around us. This is our home. We are bound to it. There is no peace. So if you want to continue parading tourists through these halls, then we are the risk you take.” he stepped back, arms crossed, chin held high.

Gauis' brow pinched. Fine. If that's how Arthur wanted to go about this.

“Very well. If you insist on your foolish games. Then by all means. I will happily indulge you.” he walked past the ghost, a quick stab of satisfaction thrilling through him at Arthur's puzzled look. “Now, if you'll kindly get out,”

“Gauis...”

Gauis raised his eyebrow and stared until Arthur huffed and stalked out of the room.

“The door, if you-”

The heavy door slammed shut with a jarring thud.

Gauis sat at his large black writing desk and began rummaging through his old mail. If that blasted ghost wanted to haunt the living, then who the hell was he to stand in his way?


	2. Of Mischief and Monsters

Elyan was standing by Gwaine, pulling the halberd from his chest as Arthur slammed the door behind himself. God's toes, he must truly be mad to think that Gwaine in particular, could ever keep himself from mischief, even for a fortnight. And Elyan...the younger man tried to walk the straight and narrow, but it took nary a word to shove him off it.

“Explain yourselves.” he snapped.

“Well, em, you see m'lord, em, Arthur...” Elyan stammered, his desperate gaze once again imploring his accomplice. Gwaine courageously took up the cause.

“Well ya see, Princess, it really isn't what it looks like.” Gwaine said earnestly as he smoothed the rend in his shirt whole, having already de-materlized his guts. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and loomed closer. “Well, I mean, it is but only just.” At Arthur's continued silence, Gwaine wagged his finger at him. “As you'll recall, you did give us leave to create a wee bit of mischief.”

“Wee, Gwaine, being the operative word. A wee bit of mischief. And the implied instruction that Himself in there would not be any wiser to it,” he stalked closer to the bearded man until Gwaine had sense to back himself against the wall, “I gave my blessing on your wee mischief as long as I could logically deny any wrong doing by blaming it on the others. But noooo, what do you go and do? You parade your entrails through the halls whilst dragging Elyan behind you through a cloud of black fog!” Arthur thundered, waving his hands, causing Gwaine to wince and duck. “That was anything but, wee, Gwaine.”

Elyan glanced from Gwaine to Arthur. “Oh! No, it wasn't our fault. We were quietly following George, but not in a spooky way, right?”

“Absolutely not. We'd never,” Gwaine answered solemnly.

“If I don't hear a reasonable explanation from one of you- an explanation that will justify whatever Himself is up to in there-” Arthur gestured sharply at the closed door behind him, “then I will shove the both of you out the bailey gates for the Wraith to chew on and spit out. Now explain!”

Both men audibly swallowed, their eyes large and looking unjustly wounded.

“They were making fun, yeah?” Elyan wet his lips. “They were making spooky sounds and moans- poor George was trying to act all dignified as he does, tried to ignore their antics-”

“You put me in this position because a few brainless tourists were being mean?” Arthur asked, tone low and dark. 

Gwaine waved his hands, head shaking back and forth, “No! Nay, Arthur! I mean, we might have pulled their hair at that-” he looked at Elyan a bit wildly for support. The other spirit did not disappoint and jumped in.

“But that was it, m'lord. We swear. We behaved ourselves even when George started in about the sixth Earl and his buckle collection. And you know how utterly boring that tale is-”

An indignant squawk popped up behind them. They turned as one to see the tour guide in question, standing at the top of the stairs, left hand clutched about the knoll post, knuckles white, and fingers twisting as though imagining them twisted about a certain ghost's neck. How long he'd been eavesdropping on their conversation was anyone's guess. Not that he let on. Because George didn't believe in ghosts. George's insistence on total ignorance and complete denial that he could actually see them was a constant source of equal parts amusement and frustration to Arthur and his cohorts. 

As their gazes focused on the employee, George's eyes widened. He snapped his own focus away, as though he wasn't gaping indignantly, and heroically stomped past them, his shoulders scrunched up about his ears, and focus glued straight ahead. 

Gwaine called after him, “Oh come now, Georgie! We like the rest of your stories, honest!” 

The only response was a tightening of the line of George's back as he thundered down the hall, turned left at the end to clomp up the steps, no doubt to turn off the lights for the evening. They weren't likely to receive anymore guests for the night. Thank God. “We need to find a nice succubus and get him laid.”

Elyan rolled his eyes, “There are no nice succubi. Not exactly in their nature, is it?”

“Enough!”

Both men snapped to attention. 

“Report. Now.”

Their expressions sobered immediately. A pit opened in Arthur's gut. He knew his men well enough to know those severe expressions.

Elyan spoke first, “George was showing them the long gallery. He took them into the solar. But Arthur,” he leaned forward, voice low, “the beast was silent. Even George noticed it.”

“You're sure? Were they in there?”

“No, nothing.” 

Arthur crossed his arms, bringing one fist up against his mouth in thought.

“What's all this then?” Percival topped the stair, followed closely by young Mordred.

“We saw the women run away.” Mordred said in that serious tone of his. “I thought we weren't allowed to frighten Master Gaius' guests?”

“What did you lot do?” Percival asked as he walked up to the group, obviously recognizing a scolding in progress. Gwaine had the nerve to look affronted, gesturing to Elyan in a, 'he's here too ya know,' way.

If he didn't step in, this conversation would derail yet again. “The Blue Lady's beast was silent when George took the women on the tour of the Long Gallery. Upon entering her solar, they found it empty.”

He let that sink in.

He was pleased when they took the news with the appropriate level of alarm.

“That's never happened.” Mordred's monotone held a rare edge of anxiety. “She's always there after four in the afternoon.”

“Indeed.” Arthur turned back to the original culprits. “And you're sure she wasn't there?”

Elyan nodded, “We were thorough. That's when we ducked into the hidden passage. She wasn't there but-” his tongue darted out again, a nervous tick, his gaze slanting to Gwaine. 

The other spirit inclined his head and looked at each of them in turn, his dark eyes somber, “It was when were checking the hidden way. We didn't see it, but we could feel it.” he stepped closer, “Arthur, the Elemental. It's not trapped in the cellar. Not anymore.”

A weight descended, suffocating them in dread implication. Arthur knew if he could still draw breath, it would be trapped in his lungs. Bad enough that It was even here in the first place, but it had been contained for years, at enormous cost. If it was mobile now... They were all in danger, even that insufferable human being locked behind the closed door.

“We didn't tell George what we'd found, but yelled at him to get the tourists out of the room.”

“He didn't acknowledge us of course, but he did try to usher them out.” Gwaine sighed, “But by then he'd already told them about the secret way. They ignored him and were bullying their way past the poor lad. We couldn't very well let them go down there with that thing lurking about.”

“So you improvised.”

Elyan had the grace to look abashed. Gwaine, not so much. The rogue puffed out his chest. “They yanked open the door and there we were, gore and all.”

“I'm sure it was glorious.” Arthur intoned dryly.

“Majestic, I'd say.”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. “I appreciate your situation. Though I fail to see how it was necessary to chase them all the way down here?”

“That might have been o'bit much, I'll admit.”

“It's George, Arthur.” Elyan implored, “They were making fun. And well, he might be a bit of a stiff, but he's our stiff, yeah?”

Arthur couldn't truly deny that, even as the others nodded their vehement agreement.

“Fine. We obviously have bigger things to worry about. Mordred,” Arthur turned to his youngest warrior. He needed a calming voice, and Mordred's was it. The young man drew himself up, always looking surprised that Arthur had selected an assignment for him. Gwaine called him an eager puppy and it was times like this that Arthur could hardly deny it...though didn't dare wound Mordred's dignity by saying so out loud. “You'll inform George that the solar and the Gallery are off limits for now and why. Tell him to be cautious. I would not see him come to harm.”

“Yes m'lord,” he began to turn.

“Oh, and apologize on behalf of these two idiots.”

Mordred quirked a brow at the idiots in question, but wisely kept his own council. He bowed his head slightly, turned, and faded away to his errand. George wouldn't acknowledge Mordred, of course, but he'd hear him all the same.

Percival gestured with a nod to the closed door. “Who gets the honor of telling Himself?”

Elyan and Gwaine stepped back as one.

Arthur glared. Cowards. “I'll tell him, later. When I'm not in danger of having salt thrown in my face.” He ran a hand through his hair. “When was the last time any of you remember seeing the Blue Lady?”

They looked at each other, a bit at a loss.

“I think,” said Elyan, “Three days ago, maybe four? She was scolding that poor scullery maid for not lighting her fire. Sefa, maybe? The one who was drowned in the marsh.”

Gwaine nodded, “Aye, that was the last I saw of her as well. Sefa disappeared down to the kitchens and the Blue Lady took that menace of hers for a stroll in the lists, well,” he scratched the hair on his chin, “I guess she sees it as the garden.”

Percival shrugged his massive shoulders. “I saw her in the lists as well, four days ago. She harped at me for tromping on her roses. I apologized and she left. Can't say I've seen her since.”

Arthur blew out a breath. “Percival, meet back with Mordred and see if anyone else has gone missing and when. Warn those you come across away from the Gallery, solar, and the hidden passages. Until we can ascertain exactly where it is and how far it's able to go, I don't want anyone near there. Try not to start a panic.”

The big man inclined his head and disappeared. 

“Where's Lancelot?”

Gwaine and Elyan shared a look. “Where do you think, Princess? Three days to the full moon.”

Arthur grimaced. “He's too close to the Gallery. They both are.”

“Not much we can do about her.” Elyan said with a frown.

True enough, sadly. “We'll just have to hope she doesn't cross Its path. Warn Lancelot and then ask around about missing spirits as well. Same instructions.” 

“You know he won't risk leaving her vulnerable.” Gwaine, his lips set in a grim line.

Of course he wouldn't. “Do what you can. I won't order him away, but remind him that he is no good to his Lady if he's a Shade of himself.”

“Aye, m'lord.”

Elyan tilted his head, “And you?”

“I'll see to Leon.”

The two nodded and turning, vanished to do his bidding. Gaius had it aright in one thing, his men were hooligans. But when it mattered, they were his and there were no others he would rather stand with.

He strode down the hall, turning right at the tower stair, opposite the stairs George had taken earlier. In truth, this entryway had been walled up in the fourteen hundreds, but to Arthur, it was as open as it ever was, the stone steps high and narrow and in good condition. If he allowed his gaze to slip, to blur, and focus on the present, he knew he would see their ruined state. Like the state of much of the citadel, if Gaius were telling it true. There was no reason he wouldn't. Arthur could not bring himself to see it. Let the illusion stand just a little longer. Instead, he saw the sconces in the wall come to life in a burst of wild flame that settled gently and lit the way as he ascended to the battlements high above, though his thoughts turned dark.

The Elemental was no longer contained below. How it came to be loose worried and nipped at his mind. Though, that was the last question that needed an answer. How mobile was it, that was the true question. Was it stuck in the passage? Had it already taken the Blue Lady and her interminable mutt? Acid roiled in his gut. He should have known she was in danger. Should have felt the darkness seeping up from the cellars like a cancer to the very stone he was tied to. If she were gone... Gone while they strolled about their days in oblivious abandon, ignorant and stupid. She'd been a shrew in life and an unbelievable harpy in the after, but she was under his banner. She didn't deserve an end like that. 

He had only one certainty now. 

The Blue Lady was only be the beginning. 

They hadn't been able to destroy the thing those years ago, only contain it. He'd never said it aloud, though he knew the others felt the same, that their quasi victory over the abomination had been pure and dumb luck. He had no illusions that circumstances would favor them so a second time.

He came to the heavy wooden door at the top of the tower and walked through it into the dying light of the sun. He strode to the low wall and looked to the flat plain below, the gentle rolling hills beyond.

And closer, far too close and swarming in a frenzy of inky smoke, throwing itself against the outer walls of the lower bailey, was the Wraith. No less inhuman, or monstrous than the Elemental. Its appetite no less devastating, no less insatiable. 

One enemy inside and one without, and they trapped between.

Arthur shuddered, his palms bracing himself against the roughened stone.

If they had ever had darker times, he was glad he couldn't remember them.


	3. Love and Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note to apologize. I had wanted to post the completed story by tomorrow. But October has turned into a brutal month. I lost my mother two weeks ago. Suffice it to say, this month has been hell. She was a brilliant light and it is insane to wake up in a world where she isn't anymore. 
> 
> I fully intend to finish this fic, it isn't in me to leave it undone. It may just take a bit longer than anticipated. Thank you for understanding and if you're up for it, hanging with me while we get our boys out of the mess they're in.

“The legion has been drilling all day.” Leon's voice, tinged as far away as the spirit was himself most days.

Arthur side-eyed Leon for a moment as he walked along the battlements to stand beside his friend. 

“The Legate must be in a foul mood.” 

The taller man hummed in response but didn't turn, gaze still trained on the columns of soldiers just visible in the lowlands beyond.

Arthur watched with him, clenching his fists against the low stone wall, wishing he could feel the grit of it biting into his knuckles. The Legate was stomping up and down the dwindling rows of soldiers, unaware as they faded away in the darkening of the day. Arthur had always surmised that the Legate was the only one of his whole legion not a shade, yet the ancient spirit drilled and ordered them about as though they had just landed on the island. He shivered. How lonely it must be, to be surrounded by comrades that were mere slivers of their former selves. How long before the stubborn Legate himself finally faded away?

“Leon, there is something you must be aware of,” Arthur turned, not quite able to shake off the melancholy he always felt when near his friend. Of all the men he'd found himself with all those centuries ago, Leon had always been the most steadfast and even among them. A great council that he felt he'd always relied on. And now...now Leon was nearly a shade himself. As though a part of him walked perpetually in the Fog. Though some days were better than others. He turned to face the other man full on. Leon was staring at him, face slack, but his eyes. His eyes were focused and sharp. Arthur started, his hand snatched Leon's arm. “Leon?”

“It's in the stair.”

“Yes. We know. I need you steer clear of it, alright?” Leon nodded. Arthur closed his eyes in relief. “Leon, how did it get free? Do you know?”

“She's in the iron dragon, eating flowers.”

“Leon, please my friend, stay with me. Who freed the Elemental?” 

“He did.”

Arthur pulled his friend closer, eyes wild and desperate. “Who, Leon? He who?”

But Leon would not answer. Afraid he was losing him, Arthur tried a new tact, “Leon, can it leave the passageway? Do you know? Can it roam freely now?”

Leon's focus changed, eyes boring straight into Arthur's the way they had in the past, as though he were truly in the here and now. He put his hand on Arthur's shoulder and leaned close, “It's alright, Arthur. When she opens the gates. It will all be alright.” 

Arthur's stomach lurched, icy tendrils snaked over his spine. “Leon,” he rasped, “Leon, if anyone opens the gates, we'll be destroyed.”

Leon gracefully tilted his head, a beatific smile graced his lips, “Yes.”

And then he pulled away, long fingers squeezing Arthur's shoulder in calm reassurance before walking the other way, beginning his nightly patrol of the battlements.

Arthur fell against the stone, hand to his mouth. Since the Elemental's attack, Leon had often muttered nonsense that verged dangerously close to madness. But there were times. Times when he displayed a frightening sort of clairvoyance. 

He turned and watched the last of the legionnaires fade away. The Legate made camp under an ancient oak, his campfire a blazing orange glow.

Closer, the Wraith continued to stalk the walls, purple and white sparks snapping from the angry mist.

Arthur shook his head and walked back into the tower stair. It was unlikely Leon would venture into the rest of the castle. He'd be on patrol of the battlements until one of them pulled him away. He tried to shake off the queasy feeling of Leon's eerie prediction, the sconces he passed going out one by one.

He opened the door to the fourth floor intent on making his way to the East wing. He needed to make a plan and to do that he needed a quiet place to think.

Laughter echoed through the hall.

He stepped out. Something was off. Had the walls always been white? The laughter ringed around him, making him feel oddly light. “Hello?” He looked behind him. The walls were naked stone. But hadn't they just been- 

“Arthur,” the voice sing-songed for him. He whipped his head forward, then back. The hall was empty, the walls covered in white plaster. Brilliant red tapestries, emblazoned with gold dragons adorned the hall. “Arthur!” it called again, a cheerful laugh bubbling around him.

He ventured down the hall, a half smile on his face. He had things he had to attend...there was an enemy? Yes. Yes, there was a terrible blight, something sinister. He didn't have time for games. His smile vanished. Something was wrong. This was wrong. The hall was brilliant as though the sun itself were shining through. But, it should be dark. His boots slapped against the stone floor. His heart thrummed in his chest. 

“Where are you?” he called. “I can't stay. I have to...” he had to...he wasn't sure anymore. He was forgetting something. Something important. He strode past an alcove, gaze roaming ahead.

A hand latched onto his bicep and pulled him into the secluded space. He yelped as he was manhandled but could say no more as warm lips pressed insistently against his own. 

“Mmm,” hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him firmly against a lean, warm body. He smiled against those familiar, full lips, pushing the body in his arms against the wall.

Arthur pulled away, those amazing lips in pursuit, peppering kisses at the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, trailing down his throat. Oh gods...shivers thrummed over his body, gooseflesh rose on his arms. “I have important things to attend you know,” he protested, albeit weakly.

The lips against his skin hummed in agreement, “Yes, very important.”

The lips parted and Arthur felt the tip of that tongue dart out, dragging a line to his collar bone.

The sensation shot straight to his groin. He slid his hands down the others back and squeezed the mounds of flesh, dragging a moan from that sinful mouth. Arthur pressed their bodies together harder. He chased the mouth with his own and capturing it, parted those lips, tongue tasting and teasing. The body in his hands sagged. Arthur smirked, pulling away to gaze into the deepest blue.

“Merlin. Sneaking around in alcoves. How beneath you.” 

Merlin grinned back, eyes half-lidded, hands still stroking Arthur's back. “Well, if you'd quit being so noble and responsible, I wouldn't have to sneak about, now would I?”

“Are you pouting?”

Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes, “If anyone is the pouter in this relationship, it's definitely you my lord. 'Merlin, I'm cold, keep me warm. Merlin, why are you saving that little girl and not me? Merlin- oomph-”

Arthur crushed their lips together, laughing as Merlin pushed him away. “I have never complained about being cold.”

“Wha- you!” Merlin curled his hands around the back of Arthur's neck, those clever fingers playing with the short hairs there.

“You know I'd rather be with you than stuffed up with the members of the privy council. Which, if we're being responsible, you're supposed to be sat on the council as well. What with being Court Sorcerer and all.”

Merlin groaned, his head falling back for dramatic effect. “But they're so boooooring.”

“If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Merlin tilted his head, a sly look overcoming his dark eyes, “If you prefer, I could hide under the council table and make sure these meetings are much more interesting for both of us.” 

Arthur groaned, the image of Merlin secreted under the table doing things with that talented tongue, sent an ache straight to his cock. And there wasn't enough time to do anything about it.

“Vile creature. You do this to me on purpose.”

Merlin planted a peck on the tip of his nose, “Of course I do.”

“Cheeky little-”

“And you love me anyway.” Merlin kissed him again. 

“I don't know why.” he grinned, closing his eyes and leaning in for another kiss.

His face connected with the wall. 

“What the-” Arthur jumped back, rubbing his nose. Merlin was gone. He whirled around, but he was alone in the alcove. “Merlin?” 

Footsteps pounded against the floor, armor clanged as dozens of bodies ran past his hiding spot. Arthur peaked out of the hidden space, but the long hall was empty. 

He stepped out and began walking down the cooridor. A roar sounded from further down where the hall turned left. Shadows sprayed against the wall, flickering and caught in the dance of a wild torch. Men shouting. Urgent. The sound of metal singing against metal. Arthur's heart raced, fire shot through his veins. They were under attack. “Merlin!” he ran down the hall, a sword in his hand, his booted feet slapping against stone. He rounded the corner- into the courtyard. Smoke billowed and swarmed. The East tower was a blaze, it's roof cracking. 

He coughed and gagged, pulled his shirt over his mouth. His men cried out his name.

“Report!” he barked.

“They've taken the lower town!” one man yelled through the haze.

“They were fighting in the tower, the sorcerers and Lord Merlin!”

Ice seized his heart. Merlin. 

“Where is he? Where's Merlin?” 

Silence, save the chaos around them. Horses screaming, men roaring, metal clanging. And then-

“Arthur!”

Thank the gods. “Merlin! Merlin, where are you?” 

“I'm here! Arthur! Arthur, I'm right here!” his voice echoed all about them, from everywhere and nowhere. Desperate and scared, a tone Arthur had never heard before and it frightened him to his core.

A hand on his shoulder, he could just make the knight out through the smoke, “Leon!”

“It's taking him!” 

“Where?”

“Through the gates. We couldn't stop it.”

He tore himself away, fought like a madman through the chaos of bodies, pushing and shoving, through the courtyard; through the lower town, hands snatching at his clothes, his hair, he fought them all. The smoke burning his eyes, his throat searing with each inhale. “Merlin!” he shouted all the way.

“Arthur!” screamed desperately back.

Finally, he pushed through the last, stumbling into lower bailey the gates slamming down and on the other side-

“Merlin!” Arthur screamed, throwing himself against the gate. His mind rebelled against the thing that held the only person he loved more than life itself. Inky black, swirly higher and higher, tendrils snaking around and around Merlin, his desperate gaze locked to Arthur's, his hand outstretched, eyes flashing gold to no avail as the thing consumed him. It screeched, and writhed and crested as a mighty wave, thick, and slopping, features forming as pieces of itself sloughed off. A garish imitation of a gaping maw and misshapen eyes took form, changing as the slime continued to fall and reform. The corners of its mouth canted up in the parody of a grotesque smile. It was looking straight at him. The world paused for a breath- inhale -

“Merlin!”

-and came alive again, shrieking as it fell, that great mouth opening wide and a flash of gold and blue-

“Arthu-”

-and it cascaded down, gorging itself on the warlock. 

“Merlin! NO!”

Arthur pounded on the gates, his fists bleeding, tears streaking through the grime on his face. Roaring, he grabbed the gates with both hands and-

“Arthur, no!”

A hand on his shoulder, digging, gripping, and wrenching him back. He whirled around to fight, to kill, but his sword was gone. The long-haired man danced back, hands in the air.

“Whoa mate, easy, just me, yeah?”

There were others, he knew them didn't he? They, he turned in a circle, gaze roving, roaming but he couldn't focus...the smoke was gone. The sky was bright. He blinked. 

“There was a battle. I was...it took, it took...”

“Who, Arthur, who did it take?” 

Arthur blinked again. Looked properly. “Lancelot?”

“I'm here my friend.” the warrior cautiously moved forward, gently setting his hand on Arthur's shoulder.

“The question is, are you mate?” Gwaine. That was Gwaine. 

Arthur nodded. “I don't know. I was chasing something. Someone.” 

“Well, whatever you were after, we got to you just in time.” Gwaine, nodded behind him. Arthur turned and staggered back. 

He was standing at the lower gate. Alarmed, he looked back to his men, their grim countenances staring back.

“I was going to open it.”

Percival shared a look with the others, nodded.

Arthur stared back at the gates. 

The Wraith, stalking the other side howled in rage, slamming itself against the protected gate again and again. 

Arthur backed away from it, hands shaking. He nearly killed them all. The same way it had killed-

“Do you remember what happened? Why you were here, in particular?” Lancelot's soothing timber smoothed over him. Arthur's brow furrowed. He could feel the others gathering closer, Mordred hovering nervously at the fringes as he often did.

“No I...there was smoke? And blue, no gold eyes? But that doesn't make sense.” He growled, frustrated with his inability to remember. Waking from the Fog was akin to waking from a dream. Or a nightmare. The emotions lingered like a fever, but no sense could ever be recovered from it. Whatever memories he had lived in the dream-like state were just as absent now mere seconds later as they had been for centuries.

“Well, whatever it was, lucky we saw you running down here.” Elyan remarked.

“Been fighting us tooth and nail for nigh unto ten minutes now.” Gwaine huffed.

Arthur smirked, trying in vain to throw off the disorienting effects of the wrenched fog. “Remember this the next time you complain when I run you through extra training.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes, opened his gob to reply when Mordred startled. “Watch out!”

The gates swung open and for one gut-wrenching moment the spirits stood completely still. 

Until the large black van rolled through the smoky Wraith. They jumped out of its way and watched as another black cargo van followed the first.

Gwaine placed his hands on his knees, “If I had a heart, I swear it would have exploded just now.”

Percival patted him on the back as Lancelot took up the space on Arthur's left.

“How long was I out?” 

Lancelot nodded to the vans, “Eight days.”

Mordred, on the other side of the drive shifted his green cloak more snugly about his person, “Master Gaius has been secluded in his solar most of that time. He's been...secretive.”

Before Arthur could reply to that, one more vehicle pulled through, the gates shutting behind it, the Wraith roiling angrily beyond.

It was a black car this time, long and boxy, not like the ones Arthur admired from the Bond movies Gaius would never admit to watching. 

He stared through the windows as it rolled past, one driver, two passengers, an older man with cragged, hawk-like features sitting up front, and a younger woman, with soft fae like features in the back. The man was looking out his window, bored, staring past the spirits as the car drove on. Arthur studied the woman.

She looked up.

And stared directly at him.

And then the car ambled on.

“Did she see you?” Lancelot stared at him.

Arthur didn't answer. All he could do was watch the line of vehicles crawl up the hill towards the courtyard.

Just what the hell had that old codger gotten them into now?


	4. Haunted Hunters

“Are you certain about this, Sir?” George asked in a way that made it clear he was most uncertain to Gaius’ scheme. It was the most dissension he’d ever heard from the younger man. Well, and the time Gaius threw the Fifty Shades of Pray party for the local Women’s church group, so he supposed George’s instincts were not all wrong. And really, it wasn’t like he knew what the book had been about when he’d thought of the idea. Though, it was interesting to see how many of the local upright women had. They had been quite disappointed in his dungeon, to say the least.

But no, not this time. 

“I haven’t been more certain about anything in my life.”

“It’s just- won’t this stir up trouble?”

Gaius turned to the frowning young man, eyebrow raised. That sounded very close to an accidental admission that George could not only see the Spirits of Cavalon, but knew their temperaments as well. Teasing, Gaius said, “Why George, whatever kind of trouble are you talking about?”

George bristled. His mouth pinched in a solid line, chin jutting, he stared straight ahead. “Rumors of course.” He replied archly, “You’re a respectable man in the community and as such your reputation is tied to that of Cavalon. I’m merely concerned.”

Gaius laughed, patting the sullen lad on the back. “Oh George, one day you and I will have a long talk,” George looked ill at that, “but not today," Gaius laughed as George deflated in relief. “And as to trouble my dear boy, I sincerely hope so.” 

That familiar tingle tickled up his spine. Ah and speaking of trouble-

“Gaius!”

“Ah, Arthur. Back with us I see.” He asked cheerily, watching the vehicles amble up the drive.

“What have you done?” The growl of Arthur’s displeasure rumbled through the ancient stones surrounding them. There were many Spirits tied and bound to Cavalon. But Arthur...   
As a child, Gaius often imagined that Arthur was Cavalon itself made Spirit. 

Gaius leaned over to George who was resolute in avoiding eye contact with everyone and whispered loudly, “My, he does sound quite upset, doesn’t he?” George’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping to Arthur involuntarily, back to Gaius who couldn’t help the smirk, and then back to the vehicles. “I wouldn’t know.” He replied primly, tugging at the hem of his perfectly pressed sleeve.

“I mean it, Gaius.”

Gaius straightened, but did not turn his gaze, though he could certainly feel the pillar of wrath standing next to him. “Why, I’ve struck a compromise. One that works in both our favor, I should think.”

“Oh?” 

Goodness, Arthur could make one word sound condescendingly suspicious.

“Yes. In order to keep Cavalon from the National Trust, we need income. Tourists to be exact. And yes, I am quite aware of your feelings on that,” he held up his hand to forestall whatever rant the spirit was about to make. “But they are a necessary evil. One we must accept. But you are correct,” he turned his attention to Arthur, who was stood with arms crossed tightly over his chest, thunder rolling over his features, his men spread behind him, expressions wavering from wary curiosity to outright distrust etched on their faces, “You and your men are bound to the castle and therefore should be able to behave in whatever manner you wish. I believe I have found the perfect marriage between the two.” Gaius rocked back and forth on his heels, unable to contain his merriment.

“Well, do go on. Don’t keep us in suspense.” 

He was in too good a mood for Arthur’s snark to ruin it. Inclining his head, he said, “Since you lot love to frighten the living so much, I’ve found a way to indulge you to your heart’s content whilst keeping up a thriving tourist business.” Gaius pursed his lips in thought, “Actually, I’m a bit appalled I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Come again, Boots?” Gwaine stepped closer, though still at Arthur’s back. Gaius often wondered how many of their unconscious actions were “muscle” memory of long before.

“I mean to say that I will no longer interfere with your ghostly amusements. You may scare away, Gwaine.”

“Um, thanks?”

“No,” Arthur snapped, stepping closer, slashing his hand through the air. “Not good enough. We have bigger things to worry about than the National Trust. You are aware the Elemental is on the loose, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Gaius answered blithely. A recklessness like he’d not felt since his youth clamored about his chest. “I have been assured that our guests can help with that as well.” Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction, clearly taken aback a moment. A tick of irritation struck him that Arthur had so little faith in him. But then he saw those beautiful vans coming through the archway and the irritation melted away. Arthur was opening his mouth to reply just as the first van pulled to a stop in front of them. “Ah, here they are now. If you’ll excuse me,” Gaius cut him off before he could really get going.

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave a sweeping gesture as though he were a gentleman at court, “Oh of course, m’lord. Go right ahead. Don’t mind us.”

“I won’t, thank you,” 

He walked to the passenger side of the first van and opened the door. A woman with gleaming gold tresses and large eyes smiled down the length of her nose and held her hand out. Gaius felt as though he were receiving royalty. He gently took her hand in his and helped her down.

“Thank you.” She was dressed smartly, a baby blue pencil skirt hugged her small form with matching suit top, sharply cut at the shoulders, with a plunging neckline that was just shy of indecent. Her three inch heels clicked over the cobblestones as she ignored Gaius completely. How she managed to float over the uneven stones was nothing short of magical. She had the skill of a woman whose feet hadn’t seen flat heeled shoes since she was fifteen. She rounded the van to stare up at the grey stones of Cavalon. Gaius’ heart swelled. He had been born in the West Tower. Cavalon had been as much as his blood as his own mother and father. Though he had been away in his youth, working in London hospitals and such, these old stones had remained stolid in his heart. As such, he never had a chance to see Cavalon for the first time except through the eyes of the newcomers to the castle. He never grew tired of their wondrous reactions to the towering keep.

“Oh.”

Oh? 

Her pert little mouth was turned down, a pout forming.

“Oh? Is something amiss?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Amiss? No, of course not. It’s just not very scary looking, is it? I mean there’s a difference between artistically frightening and sad. I was hoping for something more considering how far out in God’s forgotten country you are. But no, you’ve seen one crumbling castle, you’ve seen them all. We might as well be filming this for Youtube. Well, we’ll just have to make do.” She rounded on George, “You-”

“George, Miss…?”

She tsked, rolling her eyes, “Vivienne King, Producer.” 

“Pleased to-”

“Charmed. Show me where we’ll be staying. And then see to a cappuccino for me,” she looked back to the castle, her lips thinning, “On second thought, I suppose a plain coffee will have to do.” She turned sharply on her heels and stalked up the stairs. Poor George stood gob-smacked, the spirits surrounding him owl-eyed and slack-jawed. 

She paused, looked over her shoulder, arched a perfect brow, “I can’t find our rooms on my own, now can I?”

“Oh!” George started, racing after her.

“Can we haunt her first?” Elyan muttered. Gaius privately agreed.

“Please don’t mind Viv, she has a lot on her plate.” A sweet voice called from the open door of the second van. Gaius moved forward, a genuine smile to match the one beaming at him from a pale face. “I’m Elena, Assistant Producer. Thank you so much for-oh!” Her ankles mysteriously twisted about one another as she attempted to leave the vehicle. She pitched forward. Gaius rushed to her, but damn his hip, he was still too far off-

A blast of frigid air rushed through him, freezing and snarling the breath in his lungs. A blur of red and gold materialized before his eyes and his breath caught in his throat for an entirely different reason. Arthur was grasping at Elana’s arms- she hung suspended for a split second, then jerked forward with a yelp- paused again- being held safely by Arthur’s will alone. It was enough time to allow Gaius to hobble forward, stretch out his own arms and ‘steady’ her. Arthur shuddered and backed away, looking decidedly green for a being that didn’t have a stomach. 

Elena’s laugh had a nervous edge, her eyes wide as she steadied her feet and regarded Gaius, her hands still locked on his forearms, “I- oh my. Did you feel that? I could have sworn-”

“Who knew I still have a spring in my step when needed. Lucky I caught you. These old cobblestones would not have been forgiving.” He smiled, eyebrows raised. Her own wrinkled, but then she shook her head.

“I’ve been roaming around old ruins too long. Thank you for catching me.” She slapped his arm in a playful manner that was more reminiscent of locker room camaraderie than a ladylike gesture. “And oh, here are the stars of our show!” she grabbed his hand and waved at a man and woman standing by the other car. The man was looking around the courtyard, bored grey eyes alighting on everything for just a few seconds then on to the next. But the woman. The woman was staring at a point over Gauis’ shoulder. Directly at Arthur. Well then, that was indeed encouraging.

Arthur’s form was still quivering. Gaius frowned, knowing how much energy it had taken out of the Spirit. Not to mention the repulsive sensation that rushing through living flesh had on a ghost. Thank goodness he’d leapt into action. The others had left their leader to it and had gathered around the back of the van, nosy buggers every one of them.

“So,” Elena’s chipper voice brought him reluctantly back to her. “This is Freya Lake and Jonathan Aredian.” He reached forward, shaking their hands, but his gaze wondered between them. Elyan was frowning, pointing to something in the van. Gaius’ heart sped up. It wouldn’t be long now. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for allowing us to come here.” Miss Lake’s hand was small and soft, but her grip was strong, belying her elfin looks.There was a…tingling as well. An energy pulsing there, warm and pleasing. 

“Oh, um, yes. Of course. It’s wonderful to have you with us.” He canted his gaze back to the spirits. They looked puzzled now, huddled about the open doors, trying to see past one another. Other spirits were gathering in the courtyard as well, curious, but keeping back.

“Yes. Quite.” Mr. Aredian intoned absently, shaking the tips of Gaius fingers before stepping away. 

Percival was stepping back from the van, his features grave. He speared Gaius with a sharp look. Oh, here it was.

“Princess! You’re going to want to see this.” Gwaine called, stepping out of the way as a man in torn jeans and a black tshirt jumped out of the back, a black case held in one hand and coil of electrical cord in the other. He shook his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes and made his way into the castle without comment.

“I don’t think he’s going to want to see it.” Lancelot said, spearing Gaius with a look of disappointment.

“Don’t want to see what?” 

“Mr. Ambrose?” 

Gaius looked back to young Elena, whose brow was raised in question. By contrast, Ms. Lake was watching him with a shrewd expression. He gave her hand a pat and turned back to Elena as Arthur marched past. 

“What do you need from us, dear?”

Arthur was shoving past Gwaine. 

“Well, we’ll do a few shots out here with Jonathan to get us started while Vivienne and Cedric sort out the cables. Well, Cedric, really.”

The others were gathering behind Arthur like a pack of dogs, his men and the other Spirits of Cavalon. It reminded him of when he was a boy and traveling salesmen would stop by. The whole village would practically turn up to see what amazing wares he’d brought. By the wrathful expression slowly creeping up Arthur’s face, Gaius thought that perhaps he was not amazed. At all. Elena was still speaking, but Gaius had a hard time keeping his attention solely on her. Especially now that Arthur was glaring directly at him.

“And then we’ll have our cameramen do B rolls around the grounds. Is there any place you recommend?”

“Er, yes of course. The library is quite active, as well as the chapel, oh, and the open field to the east of the ruins. It was a lovely rose garden in the sixteenth century and a training field much earlier than that.” 

“No matter how many times we do this, I must tell you, the excitement never wears off.” Elena gushed.

Gaius swallowed, a wriggle of apprehension worming through the abandonment of reason. “Em, yes, very exciting.”

Elena signaled for another man that was exiting the second van, a large camera held in his hands. He was a tall fellow with extremely short dark hair and hard face. He nodded in their direction and finished gathering equipment as Elena approached Aredian who had wandered off to the middle of the courtyard, the oldest section, paved with large flagstones instead of cobble. 

“Oh, and Elena! Please see George before you wander the castle. There are a few places deemed too dangerous for visitors.” She gave him a confused look. “Crumbling building and all.” Wouldn’t do to have them wandering into the Elemental after all. They needed ratings, not more ghosts.

“Thank you!”

And then the cameraman walked past. On the back of the man’s black t-shirt, displayed proudly in bold, blood-dripping red font, were the words, ‘Phangasms- we’ll make you scream’. 

Arthur watched him balefully, holding his index finger at his throat and making a slicing motion.

He turned to speak to Ms. Lake, but a blood curdling wail rose up from within the walled courtyard. He automatically looked to the group still huddled at the back of the van, but they were just as wide-eyed as he was. Gwaine was clutching his chest and the scullery maid had wrapped herself around Percival’s arm while his cheeks actually tinged pink. Another hellish scream and they all jumped, turning their heads like a bunch of merecats.

There, on his knees, arms stretched out, beseeching the heavens, face blotchy red, was Aredian, artfully moaning into the camera.

Gaius and Arthur shared an incredulous look and then back to the man in black as he now clutched at his head. “Oh the pain! The agony endured here! Hanging bodies. I see men…and women, hanging here! Oh dear God, and children!” he wailed, “the children!”

Gaius turned to Freya, who was watching the spectacle with a sour twist to her lips. “I can assure you, there were never any children hung in this courtyard.” He would know, after all. She placed a hand on his arm, but before she could speak, Aredian called out, obviously having heard him.

“No, no, my dear man! Not the courtyard. Before the castle was here. They sacrificed the children!”

Gaius looked back to Arthur and stepped back. All of the spirits were giving him the evil eye now, arms folded over their chests.

“Bloody hell.” He murmured

“Perhaps,” Freya’s kind voice brought him back to her, “you would care to show me the library.” She raised her brow, eyes glancing to the angry spirits and back to him.

“Why, my dear, I think that a splendid suggestion.”

He took her hand in the crook of his arm and led her up the steps, Aredian’s theatrical ramblings following them. 

And if the angry sparking of the foyer lights was anything to go by, so had Arthur.

“A television crew. That’s your grand solution? And bugger all- Phangasms?” Arthur seethed behind them. Gaius patted Freya’s hand and though he spoke to her, his words were for Arthur. He thought perhaps she knew the spirit was there, but better to be safe than sorry.

“I know it seems like a long-shot, but I’m happy to have your crew here. After all, it’s known throughout Britain as the top paranormal show out there.”

“Of course it is,” Arthur sneered, keeping pace with them, “Gwaine and those idiots from the plague watch it. That should tell you all you need to know about its level of sophistication.”

Freya bowed her head, but Gaius could easily see the smile she tried to hide. 

“I especially like how you employ electronic equipment to prove what people have seen or heard regarding spirit phenomenon. Do you know, tourism for the last castle you visited went up by nearly ninety percent once you had left?”

“God’s toes!”

“I didn’t know that,” a playful quality floated along Freya’s voice. Gaius grinned.

“Did you also know that that tourism is the only reason that home remains in the owner’s family? You saved them from bankruptcy.”

Arthur had no comment, though that didn’t mean Gaius couldn’t feel the daggers piercing the back of his head.

“Is that what you’re hoping for here?”

Arthur scoffed, quite ungentlemanly, “Obviously.”

Gaius turned and lifted his eyebrow. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Yes, my dear. That is my wish, though there is one other thing I am hoping you may help us with. However, I must admit that I am a bit hesitant now.”

“You’re only now having misgivings?” what Gaius wouldn’t give for a handful of salt.

“Hesitant how?”

“Well, I thought there would be two of you with the gift, but after that display in the courtyard…”

Freya turned with him down the hall but stopped him there, turning to face him. Ignoring Arthur who stood braced, feet apart, arms crossed over his chest. That is, if she noticed him at all. Gaius thought she did, but everyone perceived ghosts differently. Some only heard them. Some had only a feeling, an innate understanding of what was there. 

“I’m sorry. I know Jonathan can be…eccentric.”

Arthur snorted. Gaius shot him a dirty look.

“That is…one way of putting it,” Gaius answered not unkind.

Freya gifted him a sardonic smile, “He may be wrong more times than he’s right, but he does have some sensitivity. But yes, he’s a showman. The truth is, without him, there wouldn’t be a show. Elena and I had no idea what we were doing when we started this. Then Vivienne came on, and her drive and motivation got our name out there enough to get us into places we could never have on our own. But it still wasn’t enough to get us from public access to mainstream. But then Jonathan came on, changed the name, added a dose of theatrics for good measure and boom! People were tuning in. They like his drama. Watching me work is like watching paint peel. There’s very little excitement in a real ghost hunt. And mostly, the spirits just need to be heard. There’s very few times something is truly evil.”

“Well, didn’t they just come to the wrong place.” 

Freya turned and looked directly into the spirit’s bright blue eyes. “No Arthur, I don’t believe we did.” 

Gaius threw his head back in laughter at the utter look of astonished shock on that arrogant ruffian’s face. All of this was worth it to see Arthur utterly speechless. Freya curtsied to the gob-smacked spirit, turned smartly back to Gaius, held his arm and winked, “Now Mr. Ambrose, I believe you were showing me the library?”

He patted her arm, “Why yes, I believe I was.”

He didn’t look back.

He wondered if Arthur would still be standing there come the evening bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this part up. I don't like to leave stories hanging, but it was a rough year before it was a rough year. Thanks to all who have stuck with me on this! Cookies and ice cream for all!


	5. Ladies and Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween lovies!

The lights of Cavalon shivered as Arthur stalked back down the hall towards the outer doors. His stride did not falter even as he passed a lanky man in one of those ridiculous tshirts, laying bright orange cable with a wheel, the other end presumably connected to some infernal monitor within the parked van. The lights dimmed and did not come back. The man’s brow furrowed in confusion, but shrugged it off and kept unwinding the cable. Arthur flicked his fingers in the man’s direction, not bothering to stop even as he heard the man’s high pitched yelp. God’s fingernails, Gaius had gone too far.

He marched past the vans, marking with a grim satisfaction that that idiot, Aredian, was no where to be seen. He came to stand on the flagstones in the courtyard, closest to the inner wall. The East wing and these stones were the oldest parts of the castle. There was communion of a sorts between he and this ancient masonry. He closed his eyes. And Called.

He didn’t know if he’d ever seen the ocean with his living eyes. If he’d ever heard the dull roar of waves, or stood in the surf and felt the slide of sand between his toes, or rocked back unsteady when it washed away from beneath him as Gaius had once described to him. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever sailed, his booted feet perched on the deck of a ship, so little between he and the fathomless floor of the ocean below. But if he had, he would say that the feeling of Cavalon beneath him was akin to the great ocean. Endless, weightless; below the stones, below the earth, yawned a gaping maw; unending, unknown. It swelled as waves upon waves beneath his feet. And there they heard him and answered. All those bound within the walls of Cavalon, cursed to remain until time unending. Until the stones rotted away and the Wraith swallowed them up. They came. He rarely called for them, but when he did, none denied him. Even those that wondered in the perpetual Fog, heard and answered, swaying on the edges, unaware of what or who had drawn them out, but they came never the less. Even now, he had a vague awareness of some of them, the Weeping Woman in particular, as she was known throughout the centuries. She was a sorrowful creature, and though none knew her name, Arthur had an aching understanding that they must have. Lancelot would not have been so taken with her had they not.

“They’re here, Arthur.” Elyan intoned solemnly.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

Ghosts from every century crowded the courtyard. Some solid, others mere wisps of lazily curling bodies hanging in the air like smoke. He raised his eyes. They stood shoulder to shoulder on the ramparts, spears and pikes and rifles clutched in gnarled hands, Leon swaying absently with them. There was not a patch of ground unattended by the dead. Utterly and eerily silent. All eyes turned to him. 

“We are under siege.” He called out in clear commanding tones. “The Elemental has, as you know, escaped its confinement. Protect yourselves as you have been instructed. No one wanders the keep alone. No one goes to the Main Gallery or the hidden passages.” He swept his hand to indicate the vehicles, his features hard, “and now another threat comes to us. They wish to film us. To make mockery of our strife.” He strode forward, spirits backing up to allow him passage, eyes cast down a moment in respect. He’d never questioned the strange allegiance his fellow dead afforded him. Considering that he and his men were some of the oldest spirits here, it had always made a kind of sense to him. 

“Do not be fooled. There is one among them who indeed, can see us. Hear us.” The spirits looked to one another then. He could see the confusion turn to surprise, to hope. Gaius had been the only one for years now, but he’d not had a way for any of them to leave, though he’d tried. And George…well. No quarter to be found with a man who denied himself. 

He could see in the way the spirits around him shuffled, moved with restless notions, what they were thinking. “Do not give in to false hope.” He commanded, “She is not here to aide us. She comes for selfish reasons. To put on a show. To put us on show. They will exploit your pain, your desperation for nothing more than ratings. So the living, sitting in their homes, gorging themselves on sweets and trash, can gawk and laugh and scare themselves at our expense. She is here for them.” He spat, turning in slow circles, “They all are. Make no mistake, this is a siege. And the prize is whatever they may capture on film. You will not give them the satisfaction.” They were looming closer, clawing at his every word. 

“Gaius is a good man, but he has been mislead. If this woman can help rid us of the Elemental for good, then we will not hinder her endeavor. But make no mistake, these people are not here out of the goodness of their hearts. She cannot aide you to the light, no matter what she may promise.” He nodded to a young woman, Ada, skin burnt and cracked across the left side of her face, down her chest, parts of her skull showing, results of the fire she’d perished from in the 1100’s. She nodded back, curtsying in her clumsy manner. He’d always held a soft spot for her. If he were forced to admit it, he held a soft spot for them all. They belonged to Cavalon and as such, to him.

“We must protect ourselves. We will not aide their production in any way. For if they find evidence of us here, then they will be the first of many. Others will follow. They will antagonize and trespass with no regard for who you are. They will hinder and harry us and there will be no peace. I say again, you will not aide them. On this, my word is absolute.” He captured the eyes of as many of the spirits about him as possible. From little Peter, chubby face pitted and scarred by pox, to the monk who’d been slain by his brother, to those idiot plague victims who huddled with their shrouds clutched about their backs like cloaks. And yet, of all the faces he recognized, he did not mark the Blue Lady among them. A heavy anger descended. Though she lived everyday as though she were still in the height of the 1500’s, unaware of her death, she had never refused his Call, no matter how obstinate her general nature. It could only mean that she was well and truly gone. Not to the light, as even she deserved, but torn apart and devoured for the sport of it, piece by piece. And that’s all any of them were to these interlopers. Sport. 

He raised his voice, his frustration, his gathering rage thrust into his words and growled, “You will not give them anything. Not a whisper. Not a touch.” He turned slowly, “You will not permit yourself to speak to the woman, no matter how much she may seek you out. When they leave here, they will leave empty handed. Or so help me God, I will throw you over the walls myself for the pleasure of the Wraith.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to press on their shoulders. “Go now, and do not appear again until I give you leave.”

Wide eyes looked back for but a moment. Then as one, the spirits bowed low, glided backwards and faded from sight.

He turned to his men. They watched him with grim expressions.

“What will you have us do?” asked Percival.

“I want to know what these…people…are up to.” He pointed to his men, “And I meant what I said. No interaction. Go.”

They all inclined their heads and faded away. All save Lancelot.

“Himself and the woman?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Leave them for now. Let them plot.” He answered sourly.

“Do you really think she can destroy the Elemental?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but she’s genuine. In this, Gaius may be right.”

“I wonder then…” Lancelot looked to the archway of the courtyard.

“Wonder what?”

The other man shook his head. “It’s folly, surely, to think it. But, if she can banish the Elemental…could she be strong enough to destroy the Wraith as well?”  
Arthur sucked in a breath. It was folly. To dare think such a thing. If the Wraith were gone, then the curse that bound them, all of them to Cavalon, would be gone as well. Slowly, he replied, “I don’t know. One thing at a time, yeah?”

“Of course.” Lancelot averted his eyes in deference. Funny, how every time he did that, it made Arthur feel as though he’d kicked a puppy. He clutched the other man’s shoulder. Lancelot looked up, wary.

“Keep the notion to yourself alright? It won’t do to get everyone’s hopes up. And Lancelot? If this does work, then there’s no reason we can’t put pride aside and ask her for one more favor.” 

Lancelot smiled, “No, m’lord, there isn’t.”

Arthur clapped his back. “Go on then, see how poor George is getting on. No doubt that wretched woman has devoured him by now.”  
Once Lancelot had faded, Arthur looked around the empty courtyard. Up to the ramparts where Leon alone, walked slowly back and forth, ever on the watch.   
His foul mood blackened further. How much more would be taken from them before they were allowed peace? Damn it all.   
Damn it all to hell.

  
~~~~

The lights dimmed again, this time remaining so for several minutes before coming back to full strength. Lancelot stood off to the side as George droned on about the buckle collection without pause, both of them used to the lights reacting to Arthur’s sour moods. George was exaggerating certain details in what he could only assume was an effort to make the buckle story more thrilling, no doubt in response to Gwaine’s mockery just over a se’enight ago. 

The woman, Vivianne, rolled her eyes, but continued to strut down the hall, heels clicking against the stone, pushing doors open, peering inside, before heaving an exasperated sigh and continuing on to the next door, George doggedly on her heels.  
“His sixth buckle caused quite the scandal actually-”

Ms. King whirled on him so fast, his arms windmilled in a bid to stop before he crashed into her.

“Scandal?”

“Wha- oh! Yes! It was shocking!” he nodded emphatically.

Vivienne’s eyes came alive with a wicked gleam, she stalked him several paces back down the hall, while he frantically tried to remain out of reach, “Oh do tell! Was it a gift from his girlfriend? Boyfriend? Extortion? Was there sex?”

Lancelot covered his eyes. Poor George flushed and stammered. “N-no, of course not. He-”

“Oh.” She pouted, but recovered, hands on hips, “Did he murder someone for it?” 

“What! No! He was a good and honorable man.”

And fortunate enough to die well away from Cavalon and her curse. Lucky for all of them, Lancelot thought, uncharitably. Lord Thomas had indeed been a good man, but had also been as dull as his buckles.  
She huffed. “Never mind then. Nothing less than murder or sex will keep the ratings up.”

“Well, I beg your pardon then.” He said, rather archly. Lancelot slid his hand down to his mouth to hide his grin. George was never arch with anyone. This might prove enlightening indeed.

“Look,” she jabbed a manicured finger in his direction, “give me something to work with here. This is a castle. Mr. Ambrose said the oldest foundations go back to the fifth century. No castle, even one as run down as this, is spotless. There must have been something juicy throughout the years. Give us something to work with. A murder, lurid affairs, rumors, anything. You give me a drop and I’ll make a waterfall. Something!”

“Um, well,” and he was back to being flustered. She leaned in expectantly, but it only served to befuddle him more. She threw her hands up and began to stalk down the corridor. Lancelot straightened. She was perilously close to the Main Gallery doors now. He’d hoped George’s chattering would have deterred her back to her rooms but she was as stubborn as a mule. Right on cue, she halted before them. The original doors had been plain oak, stained dark as cherry. The Blue Lady herself had had them replaced with the ornately ones that now stood as sentries to the Gallery. He’d liked the new ones, painted dark blue, yellow roses trailing over the heavy panels whilst little grey birds reveled and peeked playfully between the flowers. The doors seemed darker somehow today. The black eyes of the little fowl sharper, glinting with malice amidst the thorns. Watching. Waiting.

Lancelot swallowed. A deep maw of foreboding welled up within his gut. 

“Well, this looks promising,” Vivienne reached for the gold gilded handles of the twin Gallery doors, shaking the spirit from his thoughts.

“George!” Lancelot called, lunging for the handles just as she wrapped her long fingers around them and pulled. The doors opened a fraction before Lancelot was able to slam them closed. He hissed as his hands made contact with hers. Gods, he didn’t remember what a sour stomach felt like, but this had to be close. Vivienne’s lips puckered in a perturbed frown and she jerked the handles, but they, or more correctly, Lancelot, held firm, despite the waves of nausea roiling through his being. He shoved his shoulder harder against the door for good measure, concentrating as hard as he could on the smooth metal at his hands and solid oak beneath his shoulder. His ear pressed against the door and he could hear something…something sliding across the floor on the other side. Wet, slurping and sticking. **SMACK!** Lancelot jerked, the door vibrating as though something had hit it just on the other side of his head. **SMACK!** Again, wet and soggy. He chanced a glance at the woman. Her brows were pinched. There was the slightest hesitation, a cautious stillness in her bearing. 

“No!” George yelled, eyes as round as saucers. Vivienne jumped, eyes wide, though her hands unfortunately still clutched the gold handles.

“Excuse me?” 

“I er, mean-” his flustered gaze met Lancelot’s pinched one for the briefest of seconds before he looked at Vivienne. Visibly composing himself, George stood up straight and tugged smartly at the bottom of his neatly tucked polo shirt. Clearing his throat, he said primly, “Forgive me, Ms. King, but the Gallery is off limits, as are the rooms within it.” 

“Why?” she snapped, but stepped back, blessedly releasing the handles and rubbing her hands together, brows arched in challenge.

Lancelot sagged against the door, straining against the darkness he could feel on the other side, the unending hunger. It rose up as waves crashing the shore, yawning wide and dark, “Come on, George, don’t let her steamroll you.” He pleaded. He drew in a deep breath. A chill of bony fingers traced up his spine. A sopping gurgle bloated and popped. An impatient _tcktcktck_ tapped against the Gallery floor and centimeters…mere centimeters separated him from that _thing_.  
George dragged in a deep breath, though he’d returned to his natural inclination to ignore the spirits. Lancelot knew he heard him all the same.

“Lord Ambrose has graciously allowed you and your team the run of the castle. He considers you and yours his honored guests and as such takes your safety with utmost seriousness. As you yourself have already stated, this castle is crumbling. The Gallery is in a terrible state and not safe at all. I would be remiss in my duties to my employer if I allowed you entry.”

She twisted her lips, fingers drumming against her hip. Lancelot looked from George to the producer and back. George stood his ground, even daring to raise his chin a fraction. It was hissing now, pacing with a _tcktcktck_ against the floor. Lancelot screwed his eyes shut. If she opened this door…

“Fine.” 

George opened his mouth as though to argue and then shut it in surprise. “I- oh, well, yes. Thank you, Ms. King. I assure you, Cavalon has many other fascinating features.”

“I’m sure.” She didn’t sound sure. She looked back to the Gallery doors. Lancelot braced himself once more. She side-eyed poor George, “You’re absolutely sure the Gallery is dangerous?”

“Very.” George leaned forward, his voice dropping low, “One wrong step and- poof! We may never find you.” He leaned back, ramrod straight arching his own brow for dramatic effect. It wasn’t worthy of Gaius, but it was close.

She sighed. “Fine then. There’s a terrible chill here anyway.” She looked George up and down as though taking his measure, “Well then, Jordon or John or whatever, tell me about this scandalous buckle collection.” She slid her arm through George’s.

He took her arm gallantly and walking away, leaned down, saying conspiratorially, “I can do one better. I can tell you about Brother Maynard, mortally wounded on the alter by his own brother.”

Her smile was brilliant as she cozied up to him, “Oh do tell!” And they were off, presumably to the chapel, far on the other side of the castle.

Lancelot called after him, “Well done lad. We’ll make a knight of you yet.” And if the tour guide walked a little taller as they roamed out of sight, well, then that was his business. With caution, Lancelot stepped back from the door, hands still clutching the handles. It hissed a wet growl, grumbling in frustrated defeat. The pressure on the door from the other side waned, and then fell away altogether. He could hear the _tcktcktck_ of it scuttling deeper into the gallery. Not yet strong enough to breach the doors then. He released the handles and tipped his head back, blowing out a long breath. He grimaced and looked back down the hall from whence Ms. King had departed. Women like the Lady Vivienne did not concede the field so easily. They’d have to keep a special watch on that one. In the meantime, whilst she was suitably occupied, Lancelot had another woman whose company he was much more keen to keep.

~~~~

They called her the Weeping Woman. He’d never liked the moniker, though it was justly applied. He’d made a game of it over the years, trying to guess it, hoping against hope that he might clumsily stumble across her true name. In his most secret fantasies, he saw himself throw out a name in desperation. Her brow would pucker in thought, not distress. She would raise her head and see him, truly see him. Her tears would turn from sorrow to joy and she would wrap her arms around him and tell him that she was his. Like Sleeping Beauty, he needed only to wake her from her stupor. It was a silly dream. All the more ridiculous as the years laid down and she showed no sign of coming back to herself, perpetually ambling in the Fog, reliving her final days over and over. He cursed himself for ten times a fool each time he dared hope. But then, what did any of them have left if not that? 

He was sat beside her on the window seat, tucked just around the corner from the hall with the doors to the main Gallery. A cheerful light streamed in from the high windows, kissing her dark tresses, bound back with a lavender ribbon from her face. She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and watching the courtyard beyond. Her skin was only a little lighter than Elyan’s, with delightful freckles that danced across her cheeks and nose. How he longed to caress her lips, to take whatever burden from her. Her tears were stilled today. Those would come soon enough, stronger each day until the full moon when she completed her cycle, and then she would be found wandering aimlessly again, only to repeat her sorrowful journey to the tall window in the East Wing and under the light of the full moon she would…well, Lancelot ached too deeply to complete the thought. 

“Arthur is in a foul mood, and looks to be for some time.” He said conversationally. She didn’t acknowledge him of course, but he spoke to her as though she could. It only seemed polite. He liked to think that they might have sat on this very bench, hiding from all the world and plotting mischief, once upon a time. He settled himself comfortably and glanced absently out the diamond paned window, his fingers toying with the ragged tear of the hem of his grey/blue tunic. The men in black tshirts were walking around and filming, occasionally loping back to the van and carrying out yet another black case. How much equipment did they need, truly? He slanted a sly look her way. She was arching her neck as though looking for something. “I believe Gaius has finally found a way to best him. He’s not at all pleased about it.”

She snapped her gaze to the hall behind them, pursing her lips and hiding her fists under her apron. He barely marked it, as she had repeated these same nervous gestures for ages. He knew her actions by rote. She would jump up next, stammer something anxiously to someone only she could see, though no sound could be heard. 

“I don’t know though,” he murmured thoughtfully, “I wonder if Gaius has it aright. Arthur won’t allow himself to see the state Cavalon is in.” He watched her pop up and curtsy. “I think it pains him too much to acknowledge it.” He shook his head, “I can hardly bear it myself.”

After a moment of silent conversation, she sat back down, rubbed her face with one hand and stared back out at the courtyard.

“But I think…” he drew in a deep breath, feeling treasonous for even thinking it, let alone voicing his thoughts. He looked at her, His Lady, as he privately called her, and placed his hand over the one she still kept fisted within the folds of her apron. She did not mark his touch and he tried fiercely not to let her non-reaction cut deeper than it already did. He leaned closer and whispered, “I think, in this, Arthur is wrong.”

And if he was…well, Lancelot had no idea what to do with that.

~~~~

Gwaine was in love.

Elena walked with the grace of a drunken elephant. The fourth earl had one brought in special for his birthday, so Gwaine would know. She knocked into walls, tipped portraits askew on their nails, bumped into antique vases. Gwaine hurried discreetly to keep them from crashing to the floor, while she fumbled to right them on their stands, tittering nervously to herself the entire time. He stood to her side with a wide smile as she clutched her arms and rubbed them for warmth. He may have gotten a bit too close trying to keep Himself’s best possessions from becoming smithereens. Nothing worth mentioning to Arthur. Not if he wanted to keep his pretty self, well…pretty. 

She was, in a contemporary word: adorkable. 

It was a tragedy they couldn’t keep her. 

“Ah there you are my dear.” An oily voice called from the other end of the Great Hall. Slithering in behind it was that git Aredian.

“Excuse me,” Gwaine sulked, “we were having a moment.” Which he was ignored for of course. He had a moment’s hesitation in wondering if he should be prudent and leave lest the showman have some actual ability to see him. But the thought was snuffed out within seconds upon seeing Elena’s reaction. 

“Oh, John. Hi. I believe Freya is with Mr.- I mean Lord Ambrose in the library. I assume you’re looking for them? Unless you needed Vivienne? I think she was taking a tour with that sweet boy, George? I was just about to go check on Cedric-” the words jack-rabbited out of her mouth as she fidgeted, switching her clipboard from one hand to the other, her feet pointing towards the other entrance to the hall, where servants had once come and gone, well behind her even as her eyes never left the approaching figure.

The corners of Gwaine’s mouth turned down severely. He’d been privy to terrible things over the course of his confinement in Cavalon. He knew a nervous maid when he saw one. And he knew when one had every reason to be nervous. He planted himself between the two. Arthur would be furious if he interfered, beyond, actually. But Gwaine would be damned if he stood by and did nothing. Not again. 

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Oh?” she tucked one of many stray locks behind her ear, glancing at the empty doorway behind him.

Aredian smiled, all teeth and slime and Gwaine moved closer to the woman. “Don’t worry, lass. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Is it chilly in here? I think I’ll get my jacket.”

Aredian stepped with smooth grace sideways, blocking her path. Neither of them marked Gwaine moving in tandem, his sword materializing in his hand.

“Terrible drafts in these old ruins, aren’t there?” Aredian moved closer, the icy glint in his grey eyes blanketing his soft smile in frost. Gwaine was now chest to chest with the toad.

“I’m warning you…” Gwaine growled. 

“What are you doing?” Mordred hissed, fading in from the dark paneled wall to Gwaine’s left.

Gwaine didn’t take his eyes off the snake in front of him. “Oh you know,” he said darkly, “defending damsels in distress, keeping out the vermin.”

Mordred drew closer, his shoulders hunched in caution, eyes darting with anxious fervor between Gwaine and Aredian. “You’ll incur Arthur’s wrath! You heard what he said.”

“I did.”

“Then leave it. Please, Gwaine. We should go.”

“No.” 

He heard Mordred blow out a frustrated breath and watched him stalk closer out of the corner of his eye.

Elena backed up and Aredian matched her step for step. This was getting out of hand fast. He vibrated with a violent need to do _something_. The air around him thickened with wroth and ice and-

“Gwaine…” Mordred pleaded, hand outstretched and frozen as a deer in the hunt..

Aredian shivered. His breath puffed before his lips in a white swirling steam.

“Oh-” Elena said lowly behind him. A prickle of warning tapped at his shoulder, but his determination to see her safe swatted it away.

He watched as Aredian’s hooded eyes widened, his spine stiffened, and for the first time he seemed aware. He looked about them with searching, unseeing eyes, then back to Elena.

“Well my dear,” he reached out, his hand pushing through Gwaine’s shoulder. He snatched the extremity back and rubbed warmth back into it with his other hand.

A sly smile stretched his thin lips, “it seems this place may have something to offer us after all.”

And with that, he inclined his head and walked out. Gwaine turned to the woman, ignoring Mordred, who was frowning in severe admonishment. She was backing up, rubbing her arms, and looking with alarm all about her.

“The wretch is gone now, love. No need to fret.” though he said nothing in a way that she could hear.

“Somehow, I doubt she’s frightened of Aredian at this point.” Mordred muttered from the side. Gwaine waved him off, flashing him a jaunty smile.

“Nonsense! How could anyone be scared of little ol’ me?”

Mordred rolled his eyes.

“Whatever may be, you just proved to that charlatan the castle is actually haunted. Arthur’s going to kill you.”

Gwaine snorted, canting a shrewd look Mordred’s way. “What, because he encountered a little cold spot?”

Mordred shot him an incredulous look, “A little- Gwaine, her lips are practically turning blue! Arthur is definitely going to feed you to the Wraith.”

“Well, he’d have to know about it first, wouldn’t he?”

Mordred pressed his lips together as though constipated. Gwaine laughed, the sound fading away as the young spirit’s brows knitted together in confusion as he looked now not at Gwaine, but Elena and then to the doorway.

“What?” he looked at Elena, but she was staring past him as well, hand flat against her chest, eyes huge. Gwaine turned quickly, thinking to catch Aredian’s return-

Nothing. 

There was no one standing in the darkened way.

He glanced at Mordred- whatever words he’d been about to say dried up in his throat. Mordred’s already pale skin was translucent. His normally stoic features twisted in disbelief, mouth gaping open, eyes wide. He staggered back, away from the open doorway from which he did not take his horrified gaze.

“What? What did you see? The Elemental?” Gwaine’s chest tightened, his hand shook and gripped his sword harder. He looked back to Elena who was shaking her head and stepping closer to the door. Curiosity, not horror written on her features. Gwaine hurried to block her path and watched as she shuddered from the icy feel of his being. She stopped and looked straight through him, but her gaze searched as though she knew for a fact there was someone standing directly before her. Whatever she saw, it must have paled in comparison with what the younger spirit had.

“Mordred. What did you see?” he asked urgently.

“No-nothing. I thought- for a moment…but there was nothing.”

Gwaine cut him an incredulous look, “She looks like she’s seen one of us and you look like you’ve seen a horror show come to life. What do you mean nothing?”

Anger flashed in Mordred’s eyes, “Yes.” He snapped, “Nothing. I thought I saw someone. But I was mistaken.”

“So…just one of us then?”

“Yes, Gwaine. I guess you’re not the only spirit here too stupid to stay where you belong.” he spat.

“Hey!” 

Mordred stomped from the hall and it didn’t escape Gwaine’s notice that he left through the servant’s door behind Elena and not through the open doorway he’d been staring at.

“Hello?” Tentative and quiet.

Gwaine startled and looked back at the blonde woman. She was still looking in his direction, her eyes never truly tracking him. What he wouldn’t give to be truly seen. Not as a parlor trick. But as something real and tangible and true. Gwaine licked his lips, mulishly clamping his lips shut even as he sighed, shoulders slumping. She reached out a searching hand. He stepped away. She continued to search for him, even as he backed towards the door.

He bowed low to her, gaze lingering on her even as he closed his mind to unattainable possibilities. He turned on his heel and left. Once alone in the outer hallway, he paused and looked back. Only Arthur’s warriors would ever dare to defy his word. But Mordred hadn’t marked any of them as being in the doorway. 

And if it wasn’t any of them who’d allowed the woman to see them, and it wasn’t the Elemental…

Just who the hell else was roaming about?


End file.
